July 21, 2001

Being here for more than a year now, it seems that I have to sometimes remind myself that I’m living in Bulgaria. I have to remember that I’m north of Greece and south of Romania. I’m no longer north of Kentucky and west of Pennsylvania. Life here isn’t as exotic as it was a year ago . . . maybe I’ve already mentioned that in other entries. It’s not bad that things have become more “normal”, whatever that may be. The standard of life here just makes sense to us. People and societies adjust to their environment and Bulgaria isn’t any different. I’ve been telling a lot of people lately that I, no, WE really like it here. It is very peaceful here. Life moves at a manageable pace. Some people are surprised when I say it. Some of my students became noticeably prouder when I told them that I like it here. It took a long to time say those words and actually mean it. Because for a long time we were constantly comparing our new life with our old, and losing out on what was in front of us. It’s almost like we needed to forget what our standards were like at home in order to really start living here. There were many days when I didn’t like this country one bit. There were other days when our decision to come here seemed empty and a waste of time. And there are plenty more coming. Winter was tough (and it wasn’t even that cold!). Living in a foreign country isn’t easy. But slowly we have become submerged into something that was so alien just a short while ago. Last year, two years seemed like a long time until we would finally return home.

And even as I write that ‘WE really like it here’, Bulgaria sometimes feels like it is sinking too far inside of us. I walk outside to see an elderly man who sits on our stairs with nothing to do all day long. We came and went three times the other day and he was still sitting there (he’s mostly always there). He seems embarrassed when we see him every time. The local government waits until the teachers are done teaching for the school year and then withholds their paychecks for the summer. The sad looks on people’s faces, the feeling of working and getting nowhere, the apathy and disbelief. The same line – no money, no work. Families ripped apart because of guaranteed steady jobs in foreign countries – a mother or father gets a visa and leaves. I sometimes look at the children of three, four and five years old, whose parents are working right now with paychecks that some Americans would spend on dinner, and I hope that when they begin their independent lives in a better Bulgaria they will appreciate the road that their parents laid out before them. And Kate and I aren’t even here permanently. We get to go back to a place that has much, much more. The person, who said that money doesn’t make life better, lied. It does make life better. I won’t say that it fulfills all of our desires, but it certainly buys a level of comfort that many Bulgarians would love to experience.

Kate and I came here with the idea that we would be changed and that change is happening. It isn’t exactly as I had thought it would be. You know, that sort of romanticized confusion that eventually works it’s way out to reveal some higher truth – the stuff Hollywood is made of. The confusion that we see isn’t readily apparent to a visitor of a week, a month, or even six months. It’s revealing itself to me as I write this. And it isn’t just limited to Bulgaria. The whole human thing of conscious existence that we’re stuck in seems to be unbearably sad at times. How hard it is to be human. And how much harder it is to be human and live in envy. And we all live in envy at some point or another.

I have heard of Bulgarians speak of “freedom” so many times. From some of my students who love American rap (yes, there’s Bulgarian rap, too) because it symbolizes freedom, to the man who overwhelmed us with his stereotype that we were very “free people” because we were American. The artists at our camp said the camp should be very “free”, to allow the students to do what they please. Yes, I understand the idea of freedom to an artist, I have a BFA in painting and drawing, but what do the students need to be freed from? Instruction from wise adults? Help from people who have more experience? I’m still unsure what Bulgarians mean by this word “freedom.” I’m not sure that there’s much of consensus on what it means to Bulgarians, either. What is it that they need to be freed from and what do they want to be freed into? It’s almost funny to hear someone speak of freedom in America because we’re practically free to do whatever we want. There’s so little to rebel against. Let me qualify that statement – there’s little to rebel against in the sense that we aren’t living under a tyrannical ruler, the basics of life are available (and more), and we are guaranteed many freedoms that many people in the world are still fighting for. And it seems to be the same in Bulgaria – there seems to be little to rebel against. And the things that are usually worth of being rebelled against will usually fade into the next generation before the revolution is complete. So I try to somehow understand it in the light of Bulgarian history, which is dominated by dominators, including the Ottoman Empire and the Soviet Union, to name just two. Bulgaria has been dominated by foreign powers nearly as long as it has been an independent state. So maybe Bulgaria is still trying to figure out what it is to be Bulgaria, without someone telling it what it should be. While America is waving its flag of capitalism over the whole world with adolescent pride, Bulgaria is still brushing the dust off its knees from years of foreign domination that nearly triple the years of American independence. I don’t know, maybe I’m on the right road to understanding this concept of “freedom” that many Bulgarians speak of, which, to me, seems a little reckless and absent of a goal.

And still it comes down to the every-day, doesn’t it? How’s the bread going to get on the table? How are we going to provide the things that we need? The old, sad lady who approaches me on the street, saying she has no money for bread, the absent-mindedness that we fall into when there is bread and plenty of it – and in both situations we can feel completely abandoned, completely alone, and without purpose or meaning. And we’re all in it. We all deal with it in some way or another . . . but I want to know is there a cure to it? Is it possible that we can rise above this mess that we’ve created? Or can we possibly make it right again? My religious training wants to jump in here and let it all loose, but I’ll stop here because the questions are always better than the answers. Just the same as the Georgi, one of the artists/teachers from our eco-arts camp, told me about good art – good art asks a question, simple art gives you the answer.

-Josh